


Has it Come to Late?

by Envision_Everything



Series: A Moment in the Mind of [2]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Demelza, Character Study, F/M, Friendship, Introspection, Love, Marriage, Narrator POV, Part 2, Pining, Post-Ep 8, Realization, Retorspection, Ross' POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Envision_Everything/pseuds/Envision_Everything
Summary: “Please,” it felt insufficient. Please what? Please love me despite my greatest failings? Please don’t leave me here, alone, despite how much I deserve it? Please stay? Please, I love you?Insufficient they all were. She did not look back at him but instead detangled their fingers and left the room without a single word. He watched, eyes fixated on flaming red hair until the click of the front door resounded in the now quiet room. Companion piece to "More Than Just One Night" the promised Ross' POV.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG. OMG. I agonized over this, like, I couldn't bring myself to edit it for awhile because Ross just kept. pissing. me. off. Also, you know... graduate school, but whatever. Please point out mistakes (Lord I went through another work of mine last night and wept for the errors riddled all throughout it) and if you have any requests let me know, I started this collection "A moment in the mind of" to collect all of my stray thoughts and ideas that always seem to clog my brain while watching Poldark. 
> 
> Songs: "Lungs" and "Rebirth: by Vancouver Sleep Clinic ; "The War" by Syml ; Poldark Official Soundtrack

In all the days he had known Demelza, never had he been so exasperated by her behavior. Even in the midst of her angry outbursts over the past few months as he agreed to aid the smugglers, even then her disposition made more sense to him. And that anger had never resulted in violence. A hand reached up to tap at the bruise around his right eye. A wince was unavoidable as the pressure of his fingertips caused a sharp flare of pain.

He knew she was angry, by god she struck him to the ground, but her continued silence and coldness set his teeth on edge. She had to see, this was more than just his emotional ties to Elizabeth, for this was about his greatest enemy having access to Trenwith, to his family’s home! A Poldark estate in the hands of a Warleggan was not only unthinkable it was _detestable_. When he had gone to confront Elizabeth he had no notion of the night’s proceedings. It was not his intention outright to bed her, but there was so much between them and like a powder keg set alight they exploded into a frenzy.

It felt unavoidable, almost as if the moment was an inevitability that had been delayed until nothing could hold back the outcome. It happened, there was nothing he could do about it now, nor she. There was so much more that needed focus now, problems and trials that were facing off against them but his stubborn wife refused to _move past it_.

He sat there in his seat at the table, eyes forward with the deafening crash of plates and a single flower pot still ringing in his ears. Taking a deep breathe he felt his patience ebb. Her unrelenting dramatics made little sense to him but he pushed it from his mind. Eventually she would see the logical road and take it but for now he had more important business to attend to.

Packing his saddle without a word he set off for the mine, knowing there was always something needing done. Work, hard and strenuous always had the talent of taking his mind off the angry tumultuous thoughts that swirled these days. As the back breaking work soothed his temperament he found that emerging from the darkness of the mine was becoming more and more a creature of reluctance. With a cold cot and a colder wife to return to, time began to slip through Ross’ fingers, hours bleeding into days and days too weeks with very little hope of improvement.

Perplexing was often the feeling that surfaced when thoughts over the situation with his wife invaded his mind. She had turned her back on him whenever the subject was broached. If the woman had no desire to hear his words then his actions must speak for him. He worked harder, longer, more severely now to show her he was able to provide, he was resilient enough to work for their family and household. Yet still, she gave no indication of forgiveness.

They had weathered much worse storms than this one. They had sold everything they owned, faced the noose, and almost once again, they had fallen and risen together. She stood by him through every mistake and misstep, through every angry retort he threw her way. They had weathered the loss of Julia and the coming uncertainty that became Jeremy. There was nothing they could not face, time had proven that. Demelza knew the world, she had seen its ugliest wares and knew him at his worst so why did she act as if this storm was insurmountable?

Ross had hoped that once he was able to talk it out with her there would be peace in his home. Mistaken once more, he boggled at the minds of women. She had asked him if he wanted Elizabeth and he was attempting to answer that question before she cut off his words with angry ones of her own. She acted as if his night and longing for his first love effected them, effected their situation and their home. How could she not see that it did not? They were still wed, he was still the head of the house, the money from the mine was trickling yes, but he would be there to fend for them as he told her. Why did she view this indiscretion as if it blew the world apart?

And then, a miracle born from ashes fell right into his hands.

Good news, he had so much good news but she would not listen to it. She was always joyous, celebrating in his victories and rallying him in his defeats and yet she sat there as he regaled her of their greatest triumph to date. His felt his face fall somewhat, his eyebrows drawing together as she did nothing in reaction to their new situation.

“After so long, the very thing we hoped for… and now its here.” Her voice was not joyful, was not spirited with celebration it was… it was sad and resigned. Ross felt something near his ribs, a jerk in protest to her words that made his brows furrow.

Green eyes kept focused on the needle and cloth in front of her, hands playing with the edges of fabric. He reached out, grasping her hand and wrist in attempts to capture her full attention. She denied him a response and he felt confusion.

“Has it come too late?” The words made little sense to him. He asked the question even though he did not truly know what it meant. Too late for what? For her forgiveness? Too late to appease her of the dreadful mood she seemed stuck in? He knew that rebuilding trust with her would take time, but they had faced worse odds and worse challenges and come out victors. “Demelza?” She would not look at him, why would she not look at him?

As her eyes flickered up to meet his own, she broke his hold on her and stood. Her voice was false in its cheer. He hated that tone, he knew it from their social interactions with the upper crust. The only time his wife had ever elected such a tone was with someone she did not trust with her true self. It had never been used around him, she was open and free with her affections and love with him. This tone was foreign in his ears. Or was it? For a moment he reflected on the days over the last several months, when had she began speaking as if there was a need to hide herself from him?

“I’ve written to Verity.” Her voice broke him from his reverie, eyes lifting to focus in on her face as she spoke. “I’ve done her a great disservice, not callin’ on her in all this time. Me and Jeremy will be visitin’ her a while, helpin’ around her home where can, before the babe comes.”

Ross froze. She was… she was _leaving?_ At a time like this?! With a Warleggan about to take over his cousin’s estates? With the mine newly prosperous and the house in need of tending? There was so much to be done, and she wanted to visit their cousin _now?_ He had never thought his wife daft but in this moment he questioned her mind.

“Jinny’ll be round more, helpin’ Prudie while I be gone. She’s that glad about the extra work I’m su-“

“How long will you be gone?” It came out rougher than he intended but in his mind he ran the calculations. The journey to Verity would take at least two days to and two days back. Depending on the length of her stay she could be gone for weeks. While Jinny was a good worker the house needed a mistress and such a length away was unacceptable. How could she even begin to believe-

“I don’t rightly know.” Her voice was cold and it doused him in ice water. He reared back and looked up to see her eyes. She was… she was serious.

Confusion, dire confusion swept through him. Not only had she spoken words from that night, the night he told her of his love for her the first time but she was indicating that she was taking time away from him and did not know how much time that would be.

A violent tremor made him stand without his consent. He spoke, he knew he did but he had little focus to spare on his words.

 _I hope you’ve a little love to spare_.

They had weathered so much worse but- looking up he saw the determination on her face. She was serious. Ross was not an unintelligent man, he was well educated, raised with sense, he was observant and he saw the world for what it was. So how, in all his _brilliant_ glory had he missed the fact his wife was in serious deliberation to _leave him_?

It was no longer about carrying on, about restoring balance in his household, it was about _keeping her_ in his household. Words spoken by Dwight finally seemed to click in his mind. They had been standing on the edge of the mine, eyes cast to the many workers whose blood and sweat had built the good fortune they had just struck. Smiling wide he turned to his friend as the good doctor began to speak.

“It’s amazing Ross, a true miracle.” The forlorn tone of his voice caused the former captain to furrow his brows. When Dwight turned to him he saw a marked sadness in his eyes. “The world’s fortunes, all the money in the world, it means so little if there is not the warmth of a home, a family, to share it with.” Looking down he tapped his fingers again the brim of his removed hat. “You are more fortunate then you will ever know Ross. Demelza is not just your wife, she is you dearest friend, your greatest treasure and closest confidant. Few men have ever been granted such a blessing.” He had fled quickly after that, thoughts of a particular blonde running through his mind no doubt.

Ross had furrowed his brows, Demelza’s movements pulling him from the memory. He looked, truly looked at his wife for the first time in months. Her shoulders seemed to be weighed down, her posture demonstrated exhaustion and yet there was a tautness there from strain, from anxiousness. Blue eyes now looked almost grey, a matte dullness where once there was a spark and shine. Her complexion was ashy, hands shook just a bit, hair dull and lacking its normal vibrancy.

An ache blossomed in his chest. Surely this was a recent change? With the mine and George Warleggan and his responsibilities in town and with their dire financial straights it had slipped his notice. If she had been so discontent for longer than a few weeks surely he would notice. Clenching his jaw, Ross took a moment to be honest, truly, hurtfully, honest.

He would not have noticed.

In the recent months following Francis’ death, a certain convenience of distraction had come along. Demelza fought him on every decision he made, her anger and ire often confounding and frustrating him. He was on the cusp of financial ruin, George Warleggan was breathing down his neck, and he had the livelihoods of the miners to consider. All of this, compacted tightly on top of one another, it felt as if he was sinking and nothing could pull him out.

But then, then there had been Elizabeth. As perfect as the day they met, as lovely and wholesome and bright as she ever was. In her presence he was not a man drowning in a sea of responsibilities and marital turmoil. When he was with her and Geoffrey Charles, he was, for just the smallest moment, living the life he spent the better half of ten years envisioning. They were perfect, untouchable, beautiful and unsullied by the griefs and complications of the world.

So he had indulged in their nearness. He had not lied all those weeks ago when he told Elizabeth she would always have a reason to call- though now it seemed those reasons were selfish. He wanted to feel young again, unburdened, and he used her time and time again to obtain that feeling. It wasn’t right, and surely it wasn’t fair.

And Demelza, his loyal, steadfast, and resilient wife had born the brunt of his arrogant and egocentric actions. He had left her alone for months, alone to grieve their dead daughter, alone to raise their son, his true son. While he played happy family with his cousin’s wife his own was slowly waning before his very eyes. And yet, he did not see, not truly, the damage he inflicted, the disservice he was doing this woman he claimed to love.

He had nearly lost her once. When the sickness had threatened to take her from him, so soon after it had taken Julia, Ross was certain that he would have followed her into darkness had she left him. There was nothing in this world that mattered if he did not have her, if she was taken from him. Begging, pleading, beseeching at her bedside to return to him. _Come back my love, come back_ , that is what he uttered to her so desperately in the dead of night.

And yet, what had he given her for the fight she endured? Their troubles started far earlier than Francis’ death. He had told her he had no wish for another child, so she kept quiet about their son growing in her belly. He had talked down to her, he had insulted her, and he had neglected her, dismissing her when she did not suit him.

So why would she wish to stay? Why would she submit to him as her husband when he had acted to appallingly towards her? She had every right to leave, to be away from him if she so chose. And that is what she was choosing, was it not? She was tired of bearing the brunt of his scorn, of his dour disposition and of his moods and neglect. She was tired of him, his wife, his _Demelza,_ could no longer abide to be near him.

She was leaving. She wanted to leave. _She was leaving him._

The thought unfolded like a flower in spring, it burst to life with startling color and clarity. Demelza may very well leave this day and not return. And Ross, Ross would be alone. He would live in an empty house, no longer a home, with his dour temper and spiraling dark thoughts. The bed would be reclaimed only to disturb him when it no longer smelled like his wife. Its sheets would stay cold no matter how long he was tucked under them.

Cold and alone he would be; aching for red curls and sunshine encased eyes and easy smiles. She would be lost to him and no one would take her place. He had once falsely believed himself incapable of loving another after Elizabeth, but now he _was certain_ he would be unable to love after Demelza. She would take what was left of him with her, rip it straight from his chest and leave a bleeding wound in her wake. No man can recover from such an injury, he had seen it on the battle fields of Virginia, watched men fade from far less.

The shudder that ran through him made his head spin and his palms moist and his stomach revolt.

No, no they would weather this storm as they had all others. He delved deep into denial in that moment, thoughts and desperation being pushed down to the deepest corners of himself to be locked away. He was overreacting. Had he not taken her from nothing? Had he not loved her in his own way, gave her children and a home and now a fortune? Never a hand laid on her accept in love or affection. He had never harmed her, he had been good to her.

He had made her what she was, raised her from the dirt. Demelza was nothing if not thankful for such an honor. She would be angry and volatile for a while longer and then they would smooth the roughened edges of their marriage and continue on. He was sure of it, he was absolutely confident in their ability to readjust and carry on.

_But she is not. She will leave and she won’t come back._

He fought the doubt that drowned out reason. He tried to push it back as he always did, push back the voice that told him to pay attention to his wife’s moods, to mind her and her feelings, the voice that told him to be a better husband. But his neglect was eating at him. Words he spoke in anger and frustration, or better yet, words he failed to speak, kept springing from the graves he buried them in within his own mind. At war with himself, neurosis waiting in the wings as he twisted and inspected every thought, every memory concerning his wife.

_If she leaves she will not come back._

She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t _dare_. They made vows, she vowed for rich or poor, she swore, she _vowed_ to stay with him no matter the circumstance. She would not go back on such a promise.

 _I seem to remember, we promised to forsake all others_. Her voice echoed in his head before the ugly, dark voice accompanied it.

_So did you, you promised to forsake all others and you broke that promise. Why can she not break hers?_

It blinded him, sheer bloody desperation gripped his chest. What would become of him if she left? How could he live his life without her steady hand? She was his Dog Star guiding him in the night. If she fled, if she took that light from him, he would crumble into darkness.

He would make her stay, make her see that she belonged with him, she belonged _to_ him. And then he was on her. His lips sought hers out on instinct and _god_ how long had it been since he had the pleasure of her taste? How long since he last touched her this way, seeking pleasure and wholeness in the caress of her hands, the breath of her lungs? Ross gripped her around the waist and moved them back until her back hit the wall.

She completed him. Demelza had to know that. They were matched evenly in all things. Temper, intelligence, stubbornness, resolve, heart. Perfect equals embarking on a journey side by side. _She had to know that_. His lips moved over hers, a growl growing deep in his chest at the slight answer she gave in response to his advances. Just as he began to slip into a haze of pure pleasure, that snide voice spoke again, grating, pulling deep from his mind and heart. It worked quickly, worst fears dragged naked and vulnerable into the blinding light of day.

_She won’t love you again. She’ll find another who treats her as she should be treated, not a man with moods as volatile as yours. And why should she not find a suitable man? She is beauty and strength and courage, anyone would be lucky to have her. She will find another within a month._

He kissed her harder, pushed into her a little more firmly while panic caused his hands to shake. Releasing his grip on her wrist he drove it into the copper curls he loved so much. Spiraling swirls of crimson and gold that lit like fire in the sun. They looked soft, her curls, but they were coarse from washing and hard work. _She_ was coarse from washing and hard work, but that only ever made him love her more, and by god how he loved her.

Memories flashed before his mind’s eye as she broke their kiss with a turn of her head. Memories of her wide smile and glittering eyes the day of Jinny and Jim’s wedding as she danced- the first time he truly took notice of her as a woman. Fortitude and fierceness stained her red as she sat amongst his kin with a dignity many in his class could not attain. He heard her voice, gentle and sweet, as she sang of her love for him that Christmas. Felt her breath on his skin while laying abed with him, her sighs of want and satisfaction as he made love to her. He saw her determination and strength as they sold everything they owned; felt her hands clutching his own as she knelt before him in the dirt after the mine collapse, a solid presence that kept him from spiraling into the darkness of his own mind.

Demelza was his touchstone, his anchor, his _invariant_. She was his partner in all things, his strength when he needed it and his voice of reason when his failed him. Light shining bright into his darkness since the day they met. Confidant, friend, lover, mother of his children, partner, wife. She was his _wife_ , a title given not just because law decreed it so but because she earned it, deserved it, demonstrated it time and time again.

She was his everything.

_Or she was. She won’t be your ‘everything’ once she leaves, once she realizes what kind of man she married. She won’t be your anything._

The world spun on its axis and he was caught in the severity of the situation at hand. He was begging, he knew he was begging. There was no one in this life he would ever stoop so low as to supplicate so fervently. Not the jury that held his life in their hands, not his friends when he was in dire monetary straights, not his family, no one. Just her. Just Demelza. Just _his_ Demelza.

“Demelza… I,” He started, but what could he say? It was only in this moment, like being awakened from a dream to find his house aflame, that he realized what was at stake. “I will fix this. I swear it. I _swear_ it.” He would, he would mend the broken trust and heal their marriage. It was his solemn promise, a vow he would not break.

Yes, he would fix this and all would be well and they would live the life he always envisioned for them. She would have new dresses, more than she could wear, and a horse all her own. Finally the lowly daughter from Ilagan would know of the life she was always meant to live. The perks of wealth, true wealth, would allow him to shower her in affectionate gifts, the things she deserved after all this time. No one would ever again question her position by sheer worth alone.  

Jeremy would have much to inherit and any other children their love produced would be raised with all the comforts that life could afford them. Less time at the mine would mean more time for his son. Though he had been inattentive as of late, all of that would change. Jeremy would learn to handle himself in a fight and ride a horse and woo a woman from Ross. He would be the father he had always dreamed his father would be. They would be happy, he would make them happy. Yes, yes it would be fine. They would be fine. Everything would be fine.

“I do not know if you can,” and with a single sentence, seven words in a low voice, his dreams burned to ash and he watched on as they caught the breeze and fled.

She didn’t mean it, she couldn’t possibly mean it.

He spiraled again. This was a setback, she would flee for a bit but in the end she would return and they would continue their life as it ought to have been. They would be fortified and nothing would be able to rock the foundations of their union again.

Feeling movement he was brought back to the present and watched helplessly as she moved away from him of her own volition. She was slipping from his grasp.

_Yes, she is. In more ways than this._

Before she could escape out the door he lifted his hand one last time. His palm landed on the crux of her elbow before sliding down to the dainty wrist and finally to her slim fingers where he intertwined his with her own. No words came to his mind despite the maelstrom of thoughts in his head. With sharp painful clarity he realized this may be the last time for a long while he could truly call her his, the last time they touched while she willingly called him husband.

 _“Please,”_ it felt insufficient. Please what? Please love me despite my greatest failings? Please don’t leave me here, alone, despite how much I deserve it? Please stay? Please, I love you?

Insufficient they all were. She did not look back at him but instead detangled their fingers and left the room without a single word.

He watched, eyes fixated on flaming red hair, until the click of the front door resounded in the now quiet room. Pain blinded him then, fierce and sharp, rising from the depths of his chest. Ross gasped aloud, breath coming in quick excruciating pants. He fell forward, forehead resting against the rough wood of the wall, one hand palm flat against the wood next his head and the other balled tight into a fist on the opposite.

Deep, aching breath entered his lungs as his eyes slammed shut and mouth twisted into a harsh grimace. He longed for her then, the days when he would kiss her before resting his forehead against her own. Often she would nuzzle her nose against his own, breathing out a sigh of contentment as her hands found his body with a gentle caress.

The memories burned. His chest, his skin, his heart, it _burned_ to remember her that way when she was so far out of reach now. Shaky were his breaths, uneven and tampered by the pressure in his throat and chest. This pain, it was achingly familiar, but multiplied tenfold in comparison to the first experience. It was the kind of agony a man could drown in, the kind that broke spirits and sent souls drifting into nothingness.

He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t lose the woman he loved again. It was no mere first love this time and that experience had changed him irrevocably. No, this time it was the love of his life, she who was his only, his heart in its entirety. He couldn’t do this again, he simply wouldn’t survive it.

He would fix this, he would regain her trust, and he would rebuild their foundation. Because at the end of the day, he loved her more than he had ever loved anything. More than wealth or power, more than his family name or reputation. He loved her more than he loved Elizabeth, though he once thought such a thing impossible. Nothing could compare to blindingly bright passion that ran through his veins for the woman he had found in the midst of a dog fight. With red, bloodshot eyes, he lifted his head, gaze fixed on the wall before him.

He would fix this and the he would spend the rest of his life loving the woman that started as his kitchen maid and ended up the true and proper love of his life. He would redeem himself in her eyes, no matter the cost.

**Author's Note:**

> *Mic Drop*


End file.
